


young & dangerous

by blackkat



Series: Crossover and Fusion Drabbles [21]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Flirting, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 09:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17958317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Havoc is waiting for them outside headquarters, the car already running. With a grin and a slightly sloppy salute, he gets the door for Roy, and says, “Sir. One trip to the market district, with a side of spies?”Roy stamps down a flicker of amusement, keeps his face in pleasant lines because the guards are watching them. “And a little less cheek,” he drawls, settling in and letting Havoc close the door again.





	young & dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on my Tumblr:
> 
> FMA/Star Trek Roy Mustang/James Kirk Crossover where the crew end up in Amestris and try to blend in, but in doing so draw the attention of Mustang Squad. As a result, both Roy and Kirk are constantly "accidentally" bumping into each other so that they can get the measure of each other. Except they're both men who tend to play the flirt for strategic purposes, but are totally unprepared to have it used against them. Exasperated Riza and Spock interactions would be a plus.

“Colonel, if I may advise against this—”

“It’s just a little reconnaissance, Lieutenant,” Roy says easily, though he makes sure to tuck two extra pairs of ignition gloves in his pocket. “Grumman wants the rumors investigated by someone trustworthy, so he requested we look into it.”

Hawkeye doesn’t look impressed. “It’s going to rain,” she says flatly.

Roy’s been watching the clouds gather all day; he hardly needs to be reminded of that. Especially not when he’s about eighty percent certain Command dumped this assignment on him just for that reason. Several of the generals like to try and keep his ego in check. Hawkeye probably knows that too, though.

“Well,” he drawls, raising a brow at her, “if you insist, I can see if the Elric brothers can be pried out of the library—”

Hawkeye winces. Just a little, but Roy catches it clearly. “I’ll have Havoc bring the car around,” she says, and steps back, then turns and disappears into the front office. Roy listens to her orders with half an ear, taking the moment to check over the reports on his desk again. Nothing definite, nothing overly credible, and it’s entirely likely the brass just wants him chasing shadows for a few weeks.

Well, if they want shadows, Roy will give them shadows. He has a reputation as an airheaded rank-climber to live up to, and drowning the generals in exhaustive reports of every single thing he encounters that’s worth a mention. Broken paving stones, for example, or gossipy old women who think they know everything there is to know about the neighbors. And in the meantime, Roy can keep a careful ear out for any _real_ threats that are wandering around East City’s market district. His aunt might have heard of something, if there's really a danger, even though East City is a little out of her usual range.

Strangers in the market district, asking odd questions. Roy taps a finger against the report, frowning a little in the privacy of his office. It could just be some people with overactive imaginations seeing foreigners as terrorists. Then again, it could actually mean something; Briggs keeps the Drachman border secure enough that they rarely have to worry about invasions from that direction, but Amestris has other neighbors, and none of them are friendly. East City has the strongest defensive force of soldiers, too. A devastating strike here would cripple the military in an instant.

There's a quiet rap at the door, and when Roy lifts his head, Hawkeye is just pushing in, back perfectly straight, shoulders squared. “Sir, we’re ready,” she reports, and Roy smiles, lets the file fall shut as he straightens.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he says breezily, and collects his coat and hat from the rack as he passes. Hawkeye holds the door for him, and he sails out into the main office, glancing over at Breda. “Lieutenant Breda, if Major Elric returns before we do, send him out to assist us.”

“Yes, sir.” Breda grins, entirely amused by the thought. “I’ll let him know you said so.”

“Perfect.” Roy swings his coat over his shoulders with casual flare, ignoring the feel of Hawkeye’s narrowed eyes on his back. Edward mentioned they were going to be looking for leads, and Alphonse said something about finding information on the town of Liore; Roy doesn’t expect either of them to surface until the library closes tonight, and it’s only mid-morning now. There's little risk that either of the Elric brothers will show up, but Roy likes having the option should he need alchemical backup. Edward’s timing is usually fortuitous, too, in case there _is_ trouble.

Havoc is waiting for them outside headquarters, the car already running. With a grin and a slightly sloppy salute, he gets the door for Roy, and says, “Sir. One trip to the market district, with a side of spies?”

Roy stamps down a flicker of amusement, keeps his face in pleasant lines because the guards are watching them. “And a little less cheek,” he drawls, settling in and letting Havoc close the door again. “Lieutenant, the first reported encounter happened on 5th Street?”

“9th, Sir,” Hawkeye says blandly, taking the front passenger seat.

Roy waves that off like he can't be bothered to get it correct, even though he knows the sightings down to the exact part of the block where they were reported. It wouldn’t do to let anyone think he has a brain hidden under his hat. “Of course, of course. Lieutenant Havoc, if you would.”

“Yessir,” Havoc says, shoving an unlit cigarette into his mouth and sliding behind the wheel. He waits until they're out of reasonable earshot of the gates, on a quiet stretch of road, to add, “I checked over the names of the people who gave reports. One was ex-military, honorable discharge, quiet retirement. She was in Ishbal.”

Not many people weren’t, Roy thinks a little bleakly, and turns his gaze out the window. “Reliable?” he asks, because plenty of soldiers came back from Ishbal without the ability to so much as look at themselves in a mirror without twitching for a pistol. Roy would know.

“Scuttlebutt says yeah.” Havoc’s voice in noncommittal, and he falls silent as he takes the next turn, passing another guard post. Roy doesn’t try to pick up the conversation again; knowing there's a credible witness adds a bit of weight to the reports, and he drums his fingers on his thigh as he considers. Uniformed officers are common enough in East City that their presence shouldn’t scare anyone way, but they're going to have to be careful.

“Lieutenant Havoc,” he says, and waits until grey eyes flicker to him in the mirror. “I think we should stop for a quick bite before we start our interviews. It would be inefficient to try and work on an empty stomach, wouldn’t it?”

Havoc grins, even as Hawkeye subtly rolls her eyes. “I know just the place, Colonel,” he says. “An old girlfriend waits tables there. It’s got some killer views, and the tourists love it.”

Satisfied, Roy settles back, lets his eyes half-close. If the brass is really resorting to putting him on missions like this, maybe he should step up his game a little. It wouldn’t do to get passed over the next time a position opens up in Central. Maes would never let him hear the end of it.

 

 

“Captain, I cannot advise this course of action—”

“We’ll be fine, Spock, don’t worry so much,” Jim says cheerfully, trying not to eye the bookstore they pass too hungrily. His mom has a collection of real paper books, and they're some of her most prized possessions. Jim’s never even _seen_ as many as are tucked away in that little shop, to say nothing of all the history and knowledge about this place they must contain. He makes a mental note to swing by that way on their return, then reluctantly tears his eyes away and looks around the quiet cobblestone streets. Ancient Earth probably looked a little something like this, at least according to the vids Jim has seen. Recreations from before the Eugenics Wars are always sketchy in their historical accuracy, though.

“Least they know the value of a damn hospital,” Bones mutters from right behind Jim’s shoulder, where Spock is carefully keeping the doctor corralled between himself and Uhura. Jim would be touched, if he weren’t so amused.

“Hospital?” he asks curiously, and turns to give Bones a look. He gets a narrow-eyed stare in return, and Bones jerks his head at a tall building rising many stories above the surrounding shops, about as sleek as stone can look.

“I know a hospital when I see one,” he says. “That’s a big one, too, for a place still stuck in the Jazz Age.”

“ _Bones_ ,” Jim says, maybe a little gleefully. “You listen to that ancient—”

“Captain,” Uhura says, but Jim can hear the amusement in her voice. “The areas Sulu’s team marked out are up ahead.”

Right. Escaped Federation convicts, though Jim personally thinks _escaped_ is a harsh word. _Convicts_ probably is, too. Russell and Fletcher Tringham are nerds of the highest caliber, and Jim says that as a proud nerd himself. Once a transporter malfunction dumped the brothers on this planet, they probably immediately wandered off to look for plants. Starfleet wants to talk to them about unauthorized experimentation regarding plants they bred to have hallucinogenic properties, but given the way Pike was laughing over the comm, Jim isn't worried they’ll be in too much trouble. They’re not, either, from the way they’ve been acting, so Jim isn't worried they're going to be flight risks.

“Still no verdict on what’s been interfering with scans?” Jim asks.

Uhura shakes her head. “Scotty and Chekov are still working on it, but no word yet.” She sweeps a look over the area, eyes lingering on several signs with blocky, almost glyphlike writing, and her mouth takes on the slant that Jim can't read as anything but a mix of _how interesting_ and _challenge accepted_. “Their writing looks almost like cuneiform. It’s definitely logographic, which fits with the structural similarity to several old Earth languages.”

Their translators are currently working, but if whatever interference is screwing with their scanners starts to creep into other things, Uhura is going to be the only one able to communicate with the locals. Jim grimaces, but asks, “You're good?”

Uhura gives him a raised brow and a sly smile. “Captain, if I wasn’t the _best_ , I wouldn’t be on the Enterprise.”

Not cocky, just truthful, and Jim has to laugh. “Between you and Spock, I should be sitting on the bridge with my feet up,” he complains good-naturedly.

“You would certainly be safer there, sir,” Spock says, perfectly dry. He bumps Bones just a little with his shoulder, subtly moving him closer into the center of their group as they make their way into a more crowded section of the street, and asks, “Doctor McCoy, you're familiar with this level of technological advancement?”

“Assuming they advanced along the same lines as Earth did?” Bones retorts. “Vaguely. My daddy used to keep a collection of medical tools from different times. The ones from this time weren’t as bad as some, but they sure as hell weren’t anything close to civilized, either.”

“Fascinating.” One of Spock’s brows goes up, and Uhura rolls her eyes, trading looks with Jim, who can't quite swallow his smirk. That tone is deliberately calculated to hit every one of Bones’s buttons, or Jim will eat his communicator. “What is the meaning behind keeping such obsolete and outdated tools?”

Probably predictably, Bones bristles. “Not to _use_ ‘em, if that’s what you're implying,” he shoots back. “But we came from something, and we’d better remember that we weren’t always able to stick to _do no harm_ —”

“Oh, hey,” Jim cuts in, only a little sorry to spoil their fun. If his CMO and XO really get going, though, they’ll probably draw a little too much attention. “Terrace with a view, let’s check it out.”

“Some form of eatery,” Spock observes, following his gaze. “It seems uncrowded.”

Since it’s still mid-morning, Jim’s not overly surprised. It will make them stand out more, maybe, but he has faith that their clothes are close enough to match the locals, and they have a bit of money that one of the earlier away teams was able to snag and replicate. Jim’s blond enough to pass as the Tringhams’ sibling, too; he can pull the _I got separated from my dear brothers, have you seen them_ card without too much worry of being called out on it.

“You think they have burgers?” he asks, and grins at Uhura, offering her his arm. She ignores him completely, starting up the steps by herself, and Jim huffs and matches her. “What, it’s _polite_. This place is old-timey.”

“We’ve seen quite a few women in uniform,” Uhura points out. “And it’s not ancient _Earth_. If there's a gender bias we haven’t seen evidence of it yet.”

“Enlightened of ‘em,” Bones says, they he’s eyeing Jim with an uncalled-for level of amusement. “I wonder how recent the war was.”

Both of Spock’s eyebrows go up this time. “War, Doctor?” he asks. “Did you see some history account?”

Bones shakes his head, glancing over the edge of the stairs to where the city spreads out below them. “It’s too neat,” he says. “Orderly. They’re used to military law. And given the number of uniforms we’ve been seeing, I’m betting it’s not just police they’ve got in the streets. This whole place is ready to become an army camp on short notice”

Jim was noticing that, too. “Russell and Fletcher can't have wandered off _that_ far,” he says. “We need to find them before anything breaks out down here.”

“Indeed.” Spock eyes the neat tables scattered across the terrace. A few people are present, but not many, and the view of the city will give them an idea of where to search next. Sulu’s teams got a few hits on foreigners who couldn’t speak the language in an area down by the local shopping center, and Jim can see the borders of it from here. He can also see some sort of park beyond it. The Tringhams are botanists; the odds that they’d retreat somewhere full of plants and open spaces when they found themselves somewhere unfamiliar are high.

“There,” Jim says quietly to Spock, who nods shortly. On Jim’s other side, Uhura has her head ducked, quietly murmuring into Scotty’s experimental comm where it’s hidden under the collar of her suit as she pretends to talk to Bones. Jim does his best to smile and project _nothing to see here, carry on_ as they head for the table beside the terrace’s railing. The café itself is at the far end, and a waitress is heading for them, smiling politely.

“A table for four?” she asks, and Jim grins at her.

“Is this one all right?” he asks, and she flushes slightly.

“Of course, sir. Coffees all around?”

Non-replicated coffee sounds like the best idea Jim’s heard all day, even if it’s only this world’s equivalent. “Thanks, that would be great. But no hurry with that, we’re here for the view.”

“Thought the point was to be _discreet_ ,” Bones mutters as he takes a seat, watching the waitress move away.

“As did I, Doctor.” Spock sounds reproving, and he’s watching Jim rather narrowly. That’s never a good look, but Jim flashes him a wounded expression regardless.

“What?” he protests. “I'm just being friendly!”

Uhura snorts softly, folding herself into a chair and crossing her ankles. “Of course, Captain,” she says, and only Uhura can make a lack of tone sound so accusing.

“You're all going to be demoted as soon as we’re back on the ship,” Jim threatens, and gets no reaction except for twin eyerolls from Uhura and Bones and perfect disinterest from Spock.

The lack of response is probably for the best, though; when Jim takes another look around the terrace, he catches sight of the waitress headed their way with a tray. She smiles at him, a flirty edge to it, and Jim grins back, tugging his unoccupied chair out of the way to give her room to set the tray down. Neatly and quickly, she lays the cups out, then sets a menu in front of each place and says to Jim, “If you're looking for the best view, that corner lets you look out over the whole park.”

“Thanks,” Jim says cheerfully. “I’m Jim. And you are…?”

“Ellory.” When Jim bows grandly over the hand she offers, she laughs, but the sound of a bell pulls her eyes back towards the main part of the café. Deftly, she slides out of Jim’s grip, then steps back. “I’ll be back in a moment to take your orders,” she promises, and hurries away.

Bones’s silence is so judgmental that it Jim is surprised he hasn’t spontaneously combusted yet.

“ _Friendly,_ ” Jim repeats, wounded. A little friendly flirting is a great way to get people to warm up to him, after all, and Ellory hardly seems to mind.

Uhura is ignoring him, occupying herself with her coffee. Her first sip has her brows rising in surprise, and since she takes a second, Jim assumes it isn't too far off what they're all used to. Bones certainly doesn’t seem to care, and Jim decides not to get in between the man and his drink, since he knows from experience that’s a dangerous place to be. Primly, he straightens his suit jacket and says, “I'm going to go take in the view. You can take the next shift, Spock.”

Spock looks to the corner the waitress indicated, then nods shortly. “A constant observation of the area seems like a good idea, Captain,” he agrees.

Patting him on the shoulder, Jim dodges the next lifted eyebrow—he’s working on the friendly contact thing, but it’s still a definite work in progress—and steps away, heading for the corner where the café’s terrace opens up into a narrow bridge connecting the building to a rooftop garden across the street. It strikes him as odd, the first time Jim glances at it, and it takes a second look to realize what’s caught his attention; there are no joins in the entire structure. For all the world it looks like it was carved from a single piece of stone and simply dropped on the roof, except…

A closer look makes Jim want to frown. There's no join to the terrace, either. It’s like it _grew_ there, or was made from one single piece along with the building. The other buildings around them are nothing like that, and none of the other structures they’ve passed seem anything more than ordinary. This one seems anything but. The only marks that stand out are flat-edged raised areas, part of the stone but not frequent enough to hide any joins. Chisel marks, maybe, but Jim doesn’t think so. He’s seen a lot of early architecture, with all the pre-interstellar worlds they’ve come across, but nothing quite like this.

Jim isn't overly fond of mysteries, especially not when the ship’s scans aren’t working and all they have to go on regarding this planet is a handful of reports. Tricorders aren’t working, either, at least for scanning, and that makes the back of Jim’s neck itch a little, like there's a threat waiting just out of sight.

Determinedly, he drags his gaze away from the bridge, leans against the wall instead. Ellory was right; the view from here takes in all the lower streets, the buildings just short enough not to block the line of sight, and the breadth of the park beyond. Jim marks one banks of trees immediately as a possible hiding place for two lost botanists, but they're grouped too tightly to see through from this distance. Something to check out on foot, then; he’ll have to let Sulu know, since he has the next shift.

For a fairly militaristic city, it’s kind of boring. Jim likes people watching well enough, but he’d much rather be down _with_ them, talking, getting the lay of the land that way. From up here, he can't pick out many details or voices, and that itches at him, too. It’s kind of dull, as well, and it’s Jim’s own fault for signing himself and Bones up for the relief party, but still.

Just as he’s about to start banging his head on the railing for want of anything better to do, there's a bright laugh from behind him. “Jean!” Ellory calls, and Jim turns his head in time to see her bolt across the terrace, flinging herself at the man just setting foot on solid ground. He’s brawny like a soldier, blond hair cut high and tight on the sides but left shaggy in the front. In uniform, too; it’s better fitted than the uniforms Jim’s seen on patrolling soldiers, with more gold around the collar and shoulders. An officer of some kind, probably, but he sweeps the waitress off her feet and into a hug without hesitation.

“El,” the man laughs, then sets her down on her feet and grins at her. “Got a table open for three hungry soldiers?”

Coming up the stairs behind him, a blond woman with subtly different markings on her uniform raises a brow, but doesn’t say anything, and Jim’s gaze manages to slide right past her, no matter how gorgeous she is. The second man is almost the opposite of the first, leaner and a little shorter, with black hair and eyes and a smile that Jim registers as a mask the instant he sees it. Of the three, he definitely has the most gold, and he carries himself like he’s in charge and is just waiting for everyone else to remember that fact.

Dark eyes sweep the terrace, lingering on where Bones and Uhura are arguing about a novel they’ve both been reading while Spock studies the menu, and then slide right over to Jim and catch his gaze. There's no immediate flare of suspicion, just a faint narrowing of his eyes, but Jim feels a prickle go down his spine even so.

“Second Lieutenant,” the man says, and he pulls his gaze from Jim, but not his attention. When Jim leans back against the wall, the man notices. His shoulders turn just a little, like he’s going to glance over, but he doesn’t. “If you’d care to stop blocking the entrance, maybe we can find that table.”

“Sorry, Colonel Mustang,” Jean says sheepishly, and slides to the side, letting Ellory hurry over to pull out chairs on the other side of the space from Spock, Bones, and Uhura.

Before she can make it all the way, though, Mustang raises a hand, and says, “Over there, if it’s no trouble.”

He’s looking at the table right behind Jim, and Jim’s watching him out of the corner of his eye; the way he doesn’t look at Jim directly feels more obvious than if he’d pointed at him outright.

“Of course, sir,” Ellory says, and leads the three soldiers over to the table, letting them get settled as she takes drink orders. Jim can't quite feel eyes on his back, but he’s entirely aware of the trio, and he can tell Spock at least is watching carefully from the table. Soldiers mean authority, and usually a healthy dose of suspicion to go along with it. There's a phaser under Jim’s jacket, but he really doesn’t want to have to use it, even if it’s the better option compared to getting run out of town before they find the Tringham brothers.

“You should try one of their sandwiches,” Jean says easily, and there's a thump like he just put his feet up on the empty chair. “The cook here is _magic_.”

“Why don’t you order for me,” Mustang says, and chair legs scrape over the stone again. Footsteps sound, coming closer, and Jim glances over just as Mustang leans against the rail beside him. When he catches Jim looking, he flashes him a smile that’s all sly charm, and says, “It’s a gorgeous view.”

The sweep of his eyes and the tip of one dark brow leaves absolutely no question that he isn't talking about the park.

For a moment, Jim can't seem to find his tongue. Mustang is watching him, and it’s not predatory, just—flirty. Jim’s way more accustomed to being on the other end of this equation; he can't remember the last time he didn’t approach someone first.

It takes a second, but he fights back the error screen his brain is flashing, dredges up his cockiest grin, and straightens, turning to hit Mustang with the full force of his expression. “I have to say, it’s better now,” he answers, and has the satisfaction of seeing Mustang’s eyes widen faintly. It’s not quite a freeze, but Jim’s pretty sure it’s the same reaction he just had a second ago. It makes his grin widen, makes him lean in a little, but Mustang doesn’t lean away.

He flicks another look over Jim’s suit, then tips his head, and that smile slides into something that’s definitely a smirk. “You stole the words right out of my mouth,” he says, and then offers a hand. “Colonel Roy Mustang.”

“Jim Kirk.” He’s wearing white gloves, with some kind of symbol stitched onto the back in black thread. Not standard, going by the other two, and impractical enough even in an officer that Jim flags the observation, even as he returns the firm grip.

Roy hums, then lets go. “Come here often?” he asks, and when Jim snorts, he offers a smile that says he’s laughing at himself, too.

“Maybe more often if more people like you end up here,” Jim returns.

Roy’s expression slides into mock offense. “There’s only one of me,” he says. “I’ll have you know, the world wouldn’t survive more than that.”

Jim is pretty sure he hears the pretty blonde snort, but when he glances over she’s perfectly straight-faced and looking the other direction.

“Yeah?” he asks, raising a challenging eyebrow as he leans back against the stone. Suits are _great_ for flirting. There’s no line they don’t flatter, if they're cut well. He can see Roy notice, too. “You might be surprised how many times I've heard that.”

He can practically see the _challenge accepted_ as Roy leans just a little closer. “Most people are bragging,” he says slyly. “I'm not.” Pauses, glancing past Jim for just a moment, and then tips his head and smiles. “You were enjoying the view. Not something you get to see often? Because I’d love to give you an excuse to see it whenever you’d like.”

Jim opens his mouth to answer, but just as he does, he catches a flash of blond hair in the streets below. A _familiar_ blond head, in familiar clothes that definitely don’t belong on this planet, walking quickly like the man can tell just how suspicious he looks. Fletcher Tringham is headed towards the park, practically scurrying, and Jim isn't about to let him slip past them, even if that means cutting this short.

“Maybe,” he says, and gives Roy a raised eyebrow that’s all challenge. “I guess we’ll just have to see if we run into each other again, Colonel.” He pushes away from the rail, winks at Roy, and brushes past him, to where Spock has already risen to his feet and is leaving money no the table, no doubt watching Jim’s body language. Uhura is an instant behind him, and she pulls Bones along with her even as he sighs in exasperation.

“Captain?” Spock asks, quietly enough that they won't be overheard. His gaze flickers behind Jim, to where Roy is watching, but he simply raises a brow and follows as Jim heads down the stairs at a deliberately easy pace.

“That might be a problem,” Uhura says, and Jim sees her glance back at the woman at the table before she picks up her pace a little.

“What, that she’s hot?” Jim jokes.

Uhura gives him a smile that he doesn’t trust _at all_. “Oh, you noticed?” she asks sweetly. “I thought you were too focused on the colonel to realize she existed.”

“That would have been stupid, seeing as she was carrying more guns than any of them,” Jim retorts. As they hit the street, he turns his head, and—

Roy is watching him, still leaning on the rail. When he sees Jim looking, he reaches up, tipping an imaginary hat, and doesn’t move. Jim can't resist grinning back, but he keeps moving.

“I know I said this before,” Bones tells him flatly, “but I thought this was supposed to be _discrete_.”

Jim very much does not look back at his friend’s narrowed eyes, because he can feel the judgment has simply doubled. “I was discrete!” he protests. “Flirting is a good deflection! And I spotted Fletcher by himself, heading this way. He might be trying to find Russell, too.”

“It is logical that the malfunction that interrupted their transport to the Enterprise did not land them in the same area,” Spock says, lengthening his stride. “Nyota, if you would alert the ship?”

“Of course.” Nyota touches the comm, murmuring quietly as Bones leans in like he’s listening to her, and Jim ignores the feel of eyes on them as they turn off the main street to follow Fletcher. Roy’s still watching, but though Jim wants to, he doesn’t look back.

 

 

“Well,” Roy says as Hawkeye comes to stand beside him, her stance still wary and tense. “Now we know what to look for.”

“And who.” Hawkeye eyes him for a moment, then looks away, and says, “No accent.”

Roy noticed that, too. “Good spies teach themselves not to have one,” he points out, and waves Havoc’s cigarette smoke away from him.

With a huff, Havoc stubs it out, then tucks the butt into his pocket and says, “They're looking for someone. That or your charming personality ran him off, Colonel.”

“I don’t think that was the problem,” Hawkeye says, bone-dry. “Sir, should we report back to headquarters?”

Roy considers it, turning the matter over in his head. On the one hand, actually finding a group of spies will certainly up his standing with the brass. On the other…they didn’t exactly strike him as spies. Havoc is right in saying they’re looking for someone, but Roy needs more information before he can come to a definite conclusion.

“We have time for at least one interview today,” he says, and straightens, heading back to their table. “After lunch, of course. And then tomorrow, I think we should try a patrol of our own and look for any suspicious activity.”

“Would this suspicious activity happen to have blond hair and big blue eyes?” Havoc ribs, then catches Roy’s narrow look and raises his hands in surrender. “Just asking.”

Primly, Roy turns his menu over, scanning the offered desserts. He feels like having a long, leisurely meal and a few lengthy, incredibly detailed interviews to report in excruciating detail. Tomorrow he’ll see if he can engineer another encounter with Jim Kirk and his friends.

Roy has a feeling they’ll run into each other. Even if it happens to take a bit of doing.


End file.
